Languages are ways of communicating with fellow people whether it’s a blink of the eye, a bodily gesture or verbal gibberish uttered in a specific order. They all aim to serve one thing: making connections. There are no easy languages just as there are no easy people. It’s us who complicate everything; inventing sets of rules called grammar, training our vocal cords to sound each word alike like everyone utters them and making up words to describe things which could never be described like love, friendship, souls and even solid words like “apple”. Tell 100 people to describe an apple in one word and you’ll get 100 different words: Sweet, sour, red, green, small, big and nowadays even a computer. Tell 1000 people to do the same and you’ll still get 100 words as language is also a limited concept. So, what’s the use of languages anyway letting alone whether they’re easy or hard.
The true communication happens when you touch another person’s soul and your heart becomes the one that speaks. You don’t have to wail like a banshee to be understood. In complete silence, only the beating heart and the fluctuating soul is heard. It’s comforting, long-lasting and something positive.
Next time, exchange stares with a friend or a lover for prolonged times and value the share of silence.
P.S: Smiling while staring is perfectly okay, too and it’s far less creepy.
I’m 39 (No, it’s not my birthday) It’s the oldest age I’ve reached and the youngest I’ll ever be. And also it’s the first time I’ve come to terms with getting old…My hair had a fallout with me, I have wrinkly skin, a missing tooth, a persistent cough and a mild disgust for modern music with gibberish lyrics.
Or maybe I’m not getting old, just getting aged. Aging like whisky. Getting better as years go by. The resemblance is uncanny. We are both spirits trapped either inside oak barrels or a degrading meatsuit. The lifetime experience I’ve had is the flavor while the wrinkly skin and the lost tooth can easily be the battle wounds I’ve gathered throughout my personal battle with time.
I can almost hear you mumbling “What’s the point in him writing all about this?” I’m not trying to convey the message that getting old is hard to accept…what I’m trying to say is that no matter how old you are, you’re the age you feel…(That wasn’t really it, but this sounds about right, too).
Two weeks ago, I felt exactly like that within a bunch of people of varying ages in Valencia. I was in my teens again and they were too, proving that age is just numbers and youth is always inside you…us, waiting to be dug out.
This blog entry is dedicated to the wonderful people I met during my stay in one of the liveliest cities of the world. So, if you’re looking for an entertaining piece of writing, you may be in the wrong place (unless you’re in it ). Read this at your own risk as it’s highly personal and there will be no refund for your wasted time.
I hereby thank the people below who have touched my heart and will reside there for the rest of my life. ..There’s no particular order in the names below. How could there be? There’s no order in my life:
Roberto (Robin): The joyful owner of the Zakate Café on Blasco Ibaňez Street. He is the living proof that you do not need common language to communicate or even chat.
Cafe con leche
Vanessa : The merry, fire-haired baker of our favourite coffee shop in Benimaclet. The way she says “Hola!” can make anyone buy an extra bocadillo or two. Serving ten people in limited coffee breaks in relaxed Valencia is not everyone’s cup of tea but she can surprise you by teleporting herself to your table with the coffee you’ve been thinking of but haven’t articulated yet.
Thomas: The friendly German who overruns (Literally). If you see someone running anywhere in the city and you shout his name, the chances are very high that it’s him. His hospitality matches his atlethic skills making him a unique asset to the city.
Alex: Along with Thomas, he may very well be the next German prodigy in athletics in the next Olympic games representing his country in all events. Apart from that, he is a great guide of nightlife and has mastered the Valencian way of drinking beer from the jug while explaining the physics of the whole process.
Carol: An angel who is so kindhearted that makes me wonder if she fell from heaven or just glided down to help people in need, volunteering in everything and not limiting herself only to Valencia. I met her when I had lost my faith in humanity but she literally hugged me back to my senses. Thank you!
Ana: I do not really know her but she was the one who showed me that the world is indeed tiny as she revealed herself to be the best buddy of our course’s secretary. She was the first person I met by coincidence (on my second day) and we already had a common acquaintance and loads to talk about.
Carol’s friends at the beach picnic: I’m ashamed to admit that I do not remember their names but that night they made me feel like one of them. The language barrier turned into dust as we communicated about almost anything from politics to how coffee tasted more delicious if a bean had been consumed and outed by a monkey in Spanglish, Italian and Google translate.
Diego: Pinar’s meet up Diego proved to be a true host even after us arriving 15 minutes late to meet him. Although he had dinner plans with his buddies, he tried to extend our time beyond its limits and introduced us to Ruzafa along with a brief introduction to Spanish politics.
Rafa: A true local of the Mercat central area with a vast knowledge of the city amongst other things. We felt like we had known each other for a very long time. He was full of joy which turned out to be highly contagious.
Victor: Imagine a street artist, a guitarist so talented that he can play local English songs with perfect pronunciation although not being able to speak a single word of English. It was a pity that he was like Cindrella and after 22:30, his glamour had to wear off. The laws prohibited him from carrying on performing his songs after that time but there were no regulations about drunken, shouting tourists stealing the tranquility of the night.
Yummy
Cavus: When an expat misses home, he looks for a fellow countryman. Well, that had never been the case for me….until that time when we heard Cavus’s (Owner of the kebab restaurant Sofra) voice telling us to sit down and drink Turkish tea. It was so nice to experience Turkish hospitality once more as he offered us the restaurant’s most breezy table (evert time with complimentary tea). We witnessed a life changing event happening in our country together and sat for hours in front of the satellite TV in the restaurant’s kitchen.
Well, next part will be about the rest of the people I met. …soon. …
P.S : You may have noticed that most pictures are missing people (the main theme) but that’s for the readers to find out and experience the people by visiting the places.
What makes a city, a city? Although the unfolding, lengthy beach at the foot of the city helps, it’s not that. The answer is simply its people; the ones living in it and livening it up and giving it a soul.
Imagine a city where people greet their closest friends and strangers they’ve never met in the same fashion; with smiling faces and firm hugs. You can almost touch the sincerity in the air when you hear the musical word “Hola!” exchanged between complete strangers. Try saying it with a sulking face and you’ll discover that you can never do it. The face muscles won’t allow it. Not in Valencia anyway. English is spoken very little to none. Connecting to people with zero aid from language, befriending them with pure emotions, is indeed priceless. The term “language barrier” never exists there. Perhaps, this is because the city houses a mix of cultures; it’s a tiny mosaic from a world map of diverse nations.
On one of my upcoming blog entries, I will describe every single person that has made a positive impact on my life there, not because I don’t want to forget them (which will never happen) but because I want the whole world ( or the people who read my blog) to meet them. (The idea sounds boring for people who don’t know me or them but you can always choose not to read one blog entry) 😉
Benimaclet, Valencia. A late lunch gathering (technically it’s not late in Spain to have lunch at 3 pm but anyway) The scorching sun pours down its rays, penetrating and piercing the shade provided by urban trees at different places, at different intervals. Nine people around the table constantly change places either to catch a bit of sun or avoid it when it becomes unbearable. The people are newly found friends yet strangers from different lands. A mix of nations… With the last random seating arrangement, the common chatter turns into a group discussion about astrology and signs. Nobody around the table has an idea about each other’s natal details. Then, the shocking truth reveals itself: the first two sitting next to each other are Aries, the next two Gemini, the next three Libra and the final two Taurus. What’s the probability of nine people sitting randomly next to each other, aligned according to their signs? Is it the soul of mathematics announcing its presence in the real world? Is it the sun, making a divine arrangement by sending bursts of heat down? Is it pure coincidence? What’s the probability?
Valencia is a lively city, oozing with people whatever the time might be. In summer, the sun works overtime with its intense heat and light almost until 10 pm, so sons and daughters of the night start showing their faces after 11 pm when the nightlife truly begins. There’s another reason for that; the late dinner times the Spaniards are accustomed to. Most dinners start at 10 and go on until midnight and it’s easier to drink on a full stomach.
The area near the cathedral is one of the popular places, full of pubs and discos. The closing hours differ so more experienced pub goers, hop from one pub to another using their time in the most convenient way.
My first experience was with a bunch of friendly locals. Carol, my lovely couchsurfing contact took us to dinner, to a local Italian restaurant and we had a decent dinner for a very good price. We were ready for the rest of the night and we went to an Irish pub (The Finnegan’s) to meet our German contacts. A little note: Not many people speak English in an Irish pub but still most of the names of drinks are universal! Pointing to bottles or beer taps also works if you can’t remember essential words like “cerveza”. Keep in mind that a caňa is a small beer, tanque is bigger and pinta is a pint. Whatever the size is they all have reasonable prices. There are a lot of gin drinkers in Valencia and no matter what you order, drinks are often accompanied by peanuts or olives.
Next, our new German friends Alex and Thomas took us to a local bar where we got to know about the Valencian way of drinking beer of which we were told took many years to master.
The beer resident jug should finish in one go and the secret is to keep your throat open at all times and let the beer flow down. If your mouth gets full, take a break because we don’t want to drown in the process. In such cases, spitting out always helps.
As the jug went from one hand to another and the beer found its place either inside our stomachs or the ground, it was time to change places.
The next destination was a disco and that’s where we felt like grandfathers and grandmothers, being at least 10 years older than any other person there. Valencia is indeed full of youngsters.
The Malvarosa Beach in Valencia is a true gem even for the likes of those who simply hate beaches such as myself. The scorching sun and the persistent sand mixed with salty sea water and my snow white chest had never been attractive for me. But wait, check the photo I took at the top of the page…who can resist such a view and the friendly breeze (not pictured) constantly licking your skin like a lover’s hug (or a lover’s dog). The sand is soft and the beach is wide, making sure it can accommodate as many souls as it can on its barren laps so there’s always a spot on the beach however crowded it is.
Different kinds of music mix with on and off cheering as one encounters dancers, yoga doers and a whole lot of other crazy people (in a nice way) having fun in all imaginable and unimaginable ways. The festival season seems to have arrived but it had never left in the first place.
The latecomer night takes over but the beach people seem unaware. The bathing suits are replaced with elegant but comfy clothes and people gather around picnic tables like roundtable knights in the light of the night. Beers are drawn from sacks, fruit is placed on the tables and friends gather. They chat, eat, drink and laugh maximizing the fun. I feel lucky to be included in such a circle as I feel I belong although I don’t speak a word of Spanish. Thank you friends, thank you Carol! for having me.
Valencia is a floral city and it seems to be the nature is winning the war against concrete in this city. Flowers bloom, plants and trees that are scattered everywhere brings pleasant aromas as well as the needed shade in a burning city. Massive, ancient trees stand like city guards, waving away the heat.
Let nature out
The people are true mediterraneans; they are extra friendly and will do everything they can to help a confused tourist although the language barrier is a serious issue. But when hearts are synced, communication finds its way; smiling is universal.
Food is pretty cheap in the city compared to other European cities. For 2 or 3 Euros you can have a sandwich and good coffee almost anywhere. 2 melons cost 1 euro for God’s sake.
And of course gastronomy. Everything is delicious in the city of great paella. My advice is that eat nothing but lettuce for a week prior to coming here or else you’ll be a few pounds heavier when you get back.
I have never been a true football fan but I’ve always admired stylish edifices no matter what purpose they serve as they give a city, a lively spirit like the Mestalla stadium in Valencia, home of Valencia FC. Enough of football talk.
My day started in flaming Ankara, continued on planes and airports and finally ended in breezy Valencia. Although the city, lies in the south by the seaside, it didn’t feel disturbingly hot thanks to the trees sheltering the streets from the blazing sun. Ok, now I feel this is becoming rather like small talk. First talking about football and now the weather!
So, let me skip to the interesting bits. What’s the city and it’s people like?
The airport is no bigger than a sizely village square with only a couple of parked planes, which is actually fine because I hate wasting time getting out of the airport. However, the problem is that nobody at the airport seemed to speak English. Not the passport police, not the customs officer who wanted me to explain a bag of medication in my luggage ( like flu medication and vitamin pills…and many more that I had packed as I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to find medication in case I got sick ) or the friendly taxi driver who took me to the city centre. It wasn’t much different in the city either. Only a handful of people spoke English. However, all the people I encountered were friendly and eager to help. It motivated me to learn some basic Spanish. Tomorrow, I’ll try that.
“The Scorch Trials” – What James actually meant was my world!
I still have 4 more days to physically start my adventure in Valencia, but I am constantly reminded how the weather is going to be there. For the past week, Ankara has been trying to match Valencia in terms of heat. And today, for the first time, my hometown has surpassed my destination in terms of humidity. Valencia is a coastal city…Ankara is landlocked with a couple of crappy, tiny, nearly dried-out lakes. How is it possible that Ankara is more humid? It’s pretty clear that I am being tested…I hate being tested…
My dislike for extreme heat dates back to my infancy when I used to stare at the contents of the open fridge with only my underwear on. As I had never been a person of lightning decisions, I became immune to extreme cold but vulnerable to mild heat right on the spot. I managed to survive until now…
So, in the light (or heat) of my newest discovery, my preparation process for my Valencia trip took a huge detour. Here are the changes:
I am no longer going to pack any clothes!
I’ll be looking for shades, where the sun isn’t felt much in the city instead of chic cafes.
I’ll be writing about my experiences late at night as intense heat cripples my creativity as you can see.
One last thing:
I’d be grateful if anyone who knows the city suggests how to overcome the issue of heat in Valencia. I’m wide open to suggestions!
Barış Cansevgisi 